


Mint Condition (Or Not)

by Not_You



Category: Toy Story Series (Movies), Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Action Figures, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Crack, Fluff and Crack, Gunplay, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Other, Past Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Rorschach Feels, Sorry Not Sorry, Toys, Weird Fluff, Weirdness, and a metaphor, it's a grapnel gun, old fic, sort of, what do you tag it as when toys fuck?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3770704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I was asked for a Toy Story kind of thing with Watchmen action figures.  And I did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mint Condition (Or Not)

Seymour's a good kid, but he's not very organized. "Get your ass out of my face, Owlie." The Comedian growls, his poorly-made kung-fu grip not much good for pushing things.

"Get your face out of my ass." Nite Owl mutters, but obligingly crawls over the rim of their clear plastic box, since he's in the top layer tonight.

"A hand up?" Silk Spectre asks, and Nite Owl heaves her up from where she's tangled with Bubastis, who makes a plaintive noise.

"I'm here, precious." Ozymandias coos softly, unhooking her tail from Dr. Manhattan's legs and allowing her to crawl out.

"We are all here." Manhattan says, a little surprised at Ozymandias missing the obvious like that.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The Comedian mutters, heaving himself out and straightening his badge. "Hey, Inky!"

"Quiet. He's asleep." Rorschach rappels down the shelves, landing lightly on his feet on the bottom one. "Nite Owl. Went to Show and Tell. All right?"

He smiles a little. "Yeah, I'm fine. Nearly lost my goggles, though." They all defer to Rorschach. Pure seniority. Where the rest of them have 'Seymour' neatly printed on the soles of their feet, Rorschach just has a big, straggling 'S', the first toy Seymour ever cared about enough to try and mark as his own. He had gone by Mr. Kitty for a year until Seymour's five-year-old jaw could finally wrap around his proper name, but even with all his fierce dignity he bears the kid no ill-will. Rorschach came secondhand from a dollar store and doesn't like to talk about his previous owner, but there are lines melted into one side of his coat, as if someone had put him on a grill.

"Hurm." He meditatively touches his grapnel, the only one of Rorschach's accessories that he still has. Nite Owl found him in a catalog, once. He apparently rolled off the line with handcuffs, the grapnel gun, and a journal, but the gun is the only thing he's managed to hang onto, battered as if someone had been shooting it into the side of a cinder block. "Can be difficult to maintain one's accessories."

"So that's what they're calling it these days." The Comedian cracks, jumping the last two inches to the carpet to play tag with Bubastis.

Rorschach growls, and Nite Owl pats his arm. "Just ignore him, buddy."

"Hrrmph. Sure you're all right?"

And strange children can be cruel sometimes, but it still breaks Nite Owl's heart. "I'm fine." He pulls off his goggles with a snap. "See? The tabs are just as good as they were before."

"Left one's getting too loose in its socket." Rorschach mutters.

"Well, y'know. Wear and tear." He puts the goggles back on and touches Rorschach's face, still crisp black and white after all this time. There's a moment of silence, and he's not too surprised when his friend grabs him by the (detachable, real fabric) cape and drags him off behind the shoeboxes full of trading cards. It's a dark, secluded little corner, and Nite Owl shudders as Rorschach pushes him against the wall, gleaming, scuffed black hands unsnapping his goggles, very carefully. Nite Owl knows the sculpt on his upper face isn't very good, but Rorschach never seems to mind, and he growls possessively as he fingers a tiny shaving of plastic. "Have been damaged."

"I-it's n-nothing..." Nite Owl pants. The spot is still sore, but Rorschach's fingers are so gentle he melts against the wall.

"Not nothing." He stretches up to press an amorphous black and white kiss to to the socket, making Nite Owl groan. "Take all breakages very seriously, no matter how small." His hands slide down Nite Owl's neck, making him whimper as they stop at the fastenings of his cape. "Should check this, too." He says, the faintest edge of mischief in his voice.

"Rorschach..." He moans again as the left one gives, whining helplessly as his partner sucks the insert tab into his mouth.

"Seems to be in order." He murmurs after a soft, wet eternity.

"Fuck..."

"Toys shouldn't swear." He says reprovingly, unsnapping the other side of the cape more roughly, making Nite Owl hiss and shudder.

"Please, buddy, I can't--" He yelps softly as Rorschach sucks the tab soothingly, then works a finger into the corresponding hole. "Oh god, Rorschach please..." He cries out as one hand slides lower, begging incoherently as one fingertip traces the crescent clasp of his belt (also detachable, and still containing most of the original Nite Owl Accessory Pak, minus the dart the neighbor cat had eaten) until Rorschach finally relents, unsnapping it all at once and making Nite Owl cry out as he shudders and sinks to the floor. He moans softly as Rorschach tenderly snaps everything back into place, smoothing his cape. "Your turn." He growls when he can speak again, and knocks Rorschach onto his back, pressing his gun back into his hand. He lets out the soft, almost inaudible noise he can't help making every time it's slotted into or out of his grip, and shudders as Nite Owl runs loving brown hands over it.

"N-Nite Owl..." It sounds almost like a warning, like he'll belt Nite Owl in the face if he doesn't stop, but nothing could be further from the truth. "Oh god..." He whimpers, and then bites his sleeve, the grapnel blasting up and away in a clean arch, knocking a pack of gum off of one of the shoeboxes and making the Comedian laugh.


End file.
